My dad griped about my friends constantly. He always talked about their odd hair color, telling me I was never allowed to dye mine. He didn’t like how I hung out with the freaks—goth, emo, punk, they were all my friends. My dad said they were delinquents in the making, but I didn’t care. They were good people.
The one that I was the closest to out of all my friends was Tony. We’d been friends since kindergarten. He was funny, caring, and passionate about everything that he did. Tony was sixteen, and yeah, he was a little bit goth which some people looked down on him for. But more often than not, the reason people didn’t give him a second chance was because they heard that he was gay.
Tony and I would talk on the phone for hours or sit and watch movies together all night. My father said that Tony was a bad apple and I should avoid him at all costs. I fought him on that though, because Tony was my best friend. I knew it was just because my father didn’t like homosexual people. He was raised in a different time, but I wished he’d catch up to the 21st century.
One night, I was out on a date with Matthew, my boyfriend. We were at the movies, so I had set my phone to silent. I missed a call from Tony. When I didn’t answer, he repeatedly tried calling my house before calling me back for almost an hour. He left at least a dozen ranting messages.
He asked me to call him back as soon as I could. He sounded frantic, crying and out of breath.
When I got out of the movies, I listened to all of the voicemails that Tony had left me. The last one had me kind of scared, because it simply said, “I’m sorry about all the messages, Connie. Please ignore them. Goodbye.”
The crying, frantic, breathlessness was gone. He sounded hollow.
When I tried to call Tony back, he did not answer on his cell or at his house.
I asked my dad to give me a ride over to Tony’s house. When my dad started to give me crap about it, I told him that Tony’s messages had made me upset. I just wanted to check on my friend.
As we drove, I thought about all the times in the past that Tony had said the world would be better off without him. I always thought he was just being sarcastic. I hoped like hell I was right. I prayed that he was just pulling a really messed up stunt to teach me to answer my phone more often.
When we pulled into the driveway, Tony’s parents were still gone, working the second shift at a local restaurant where I worked part-time, too. My dad told me to stay in the car. When he went in the house, I tried to keep my brain occupied. I texted Matthew. I texted Tony. I texted Matthew back.
My dad didn’t come back until almost ten minutes later, just as an ambulance pulled in the driveway behind me.
I still did not know anything about what was going on, and my dad told me to drive over to the restaurant to tell Tony’s parents they needed to get to the city hospital.
I asked my dad where Tony was. I asked him to tell me my friend was safe.
He hugged me, kissed my hair, and said, “Go, Connie. Please.”

I was so anxious the whole short drive. I kept thinking about Tony. What had happened? Had he hit his head? Had he accidentally electrocuted himself? Was he okay? How long had he been hurt? It was obvious, from the ambulance that whatever had happened was seriously bad.
When I found Tony’ parents, they asked what had happened. I didn’t have anything to give them though. I told them that my dad knew, but did not tell me anything.
I offered to finish out the shift for them, as long as they could drop the car off to my dad on the way. When my dad picked me up at the end of the shift, he drove me straight to the hospital.
“Tony’s parents need you there,” was the only explanation he gave.
At the hospital, Tony’s parents met me at the door to his private room. They told me that Tony was unconscious and would not make it through the rest of the night: he had taken pills in an attempt to commit suicide. There was too much brain damage. He had been out too long, not breathing, before my father resuscitated him.
I broke down and started crying.
His mother said, “Tony left a note in his room for us. And another one for you. Before he… did it.”
His father handed me the hand-written note, which I collapsed against the wall to read.
Connie,
Tonight, I really needed the one person who could cheer me up, and you were not here. The only thing I ask is that you be there for my mom and dad for me. When I’m gone.
They may not understand what I was going through. How could they? I’m not gay in their eyes. They never understood me, and I didn’t say anything to them out of fear of upsetting them.
Even you only knew part of the story. All the kids at school, always taunting me and pushing me around. I felt so afraid, like they were going to hurt me at any turn. I didn’t dare go anywhere one of the jerks might catch me alone. They made me fear for my life. It’s become too much. If I am gone, they can’t hurt me ever again.
I am sorry for all the pain that I caused you. You were my best friend, and you were like a big sister to me. I just could not take it anymore.
Love always,
Antony
As I read the letter, I started crying even harder. How could he do this to me? How could he do this to his parents? Above all, how could he do this to himself? I sat in his room after his mom and dad decided to pull the plug. I waited by his side until he had passed. I wept over him. My beautiful best friend was gone.
For the next week, I did not even come out of my room except to use the bathroom and sometimes eat alone. I didn’t care if I was clean, or how old my clothes were. I ignored texts from Matthew and my other friends. I didn’t even bother to go online. I didn’t care about anything. I had failed as a friend. Tony had needed me; I hadn’t been there. Why did I deserve to be happy, fed, clean, entertained, loved?
My dad came to talk to me. He asked me to come to school and speak with Tony’s classmates. I didn’t know what to say. How could I talk about suicide to them? How could I make them understand that the mean words they said to him were partially to blame for the fact he committed suicide? I did not even want anything to do with them or myself. What was I suppose to say?
I felt as if his death was my own fault. I had heard him make comments before he did this, and I should have said something then. Maybe if I had, he would still be here. I should have told someone what he was going through. I saw the signs but did nothing, now the best man in the world was gone.
In the morning, my dad woke me up and helped me to get things ready so that I went to school. When I got there, the principal stopped me at the door. She told me that I needed to go see the counselor before I was going to do anything.
When I went to my counselor, we talked for almost an hour. It was about setting up an assembly to talk to the whole school instead of just Tony’s classmates. She also set up for other schools to come and hear what I had to say.
At first, I was really anxious. I thought, “Who am I to tell anyone what is and is not right?” But my counselor brought in a few other people, so that made it easier.
I told everyone about the fun things that Tony and I did over the years that we knew each other. I told them about him being such a great person. I told everything I remembered about him.
When I got to the part about how he was gay, I heard someone in the audience say that he deserved to die then. That is when I almost walked off the stage, but instead of leaving, I felt righteous and angry.
I said, pointing towards the audience, “It was comments like that one that caused me to lose my best friend. So many days, I watched him cry because people would make rude comments about him being gay. He didn’t choose to be singled out. I saw him try to hide who he was, just to fit in. He was one of the most loving people I have ever met, and I lost him as a result of people being ignorant.”
I took a deep breath.
I continued. “I cannot blame anyone without also blaming myself. I had many chances to try to tell someone about what Tony told me when we were alone. About how down he was on himself. I didn’t think he would ever do it. Now, I cannot go back and change what happened to Tony. I can only move forward and try to keep others from doing what he did. Or from making the mistakes that I made.”
I left the stage after that to let the next speaker, a teacher who had a video to show about warning signs and about who students could reach out to if they were thinking of hurting themselves. My boyfriend, Matthew, was there waiting for me. He had a single white rose, and I just started bawling. I missed Tony so much.
When I got home from school, my father told me that he was proud of what I did. He thought that it was a great thing for me and for others. He thought that it would help me turn the bad event of losing my best friend into a good thing of keeping others from doing it.
He even apologized for all the times he had said mean things about Tony. I think he felt a little to blame in that way too, like maybe if he had encouraged our friendship rather than telling me Tony was a bad egg that things would have been that much better for my friend.
I was then asked by a local newspaper to write my story to share with others. I was a afraid of having it published, because I did not know what to expect. But if there was any chance of story keeping someone else from going through what Tony or I had, it would be the best thing I could do to help Tony’s legacy continue. I hope I make him proud.